


Keepers and Chasers

by WolfRune20855



Series: The Basics of Broom Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, F/M, Idiots in Love, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, It's September, Matchmaking, Pining, broom magic because why not, no beta we die like men, quidditch as a love language, the bell brothers finally make an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfRune20855/pseuds/WolfRune20855
Summary: Helena Bell plays matchmaker, much to Katie's dismay.
Relationships: Katie Bell/Marcus Flint
Series: The Basics of Broom Magic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179386
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Keepers and Chasers

**Author's Note:**

> Look at this, a sequel. Who'd have thought?
> 
> I have plans for continuing this into a series of one-shots, but they're going to be randomly posted. This started as me choosing a random pairing to disguise myself, but it's turned into a whole thing.
> 
> Just a note, since house elves are based on Brownies, who are highly temperamental and expect to be respected, Nilsy is more brownie-like than many of the elves in the book. Also, he talks like a butler. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think.

Katie Bell liked to be alone. She knew that it was odd for a girl her age to prefer solitude to hanging out with her friends, but she couldn’t help it. She enjoyed sitting in silence, piecing together broom designs in her notebook. The only person who understood her need for privacy was Marcus. Somehow, he intrinsically knew when to leave her alone, just like he knew when to push her out of her comfort zone, and when to sit in silence, watching her work. None of her friends—not Leanne, nor Angelina, nor Alicia—understood Katie’s desire to be alone like Marcus did. 

Right now, Katie needed to be alone. The guests hadn’t even arrived and she could feel the crushing weight settling on her shoulders. She wanted to turn in on herself—to lock herself away with her designs. She didn’t want this dinner, even if it was being thrown for her. _Especially_ because it was being thrown for her. 

Katie sunk down in the chair at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the panic that was swelling in her chest to subside. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t—

“You good?” A rough hand landed on her shoulder. Katie looked up, meeting Gilbert’s piercing stare. His mossy green eyes were filled with worry. 

Katie forced a smile on her lips. “I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Gilbert arched a blonde eyebrow. 

Swallowing her nerves, Katie nodded. “Mum would kill me if I weren’t.” Gilbert sits down on the floor beside her chair, his long legs reaching all the way across the narrow front hallway. “She’s going to kill you for getting your robes dirty.” 

Her middle brother shrugged. “Let her.” He patted Katie’s knee reassuringly. “I don’t get why she’s zeroed in on you. Elliot’s only been dating that Shacklebolt witch for two months and I’m not seeing anyone. I figured her wrath would turn on me next.”

“Ah, but you see, you’re a wizard.” Katie leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. “It’s okay if you want to run wild before settling down.” 

She heard Gilbert sigh beside her. “She’s just trying to help. It’s a miracle they had the three of us. She’s worried about the Fade and that new law everyone’s saying will be passed. She doesn’t want you to be saddled with someone you can’t stand.” 

That was part of the problem. Katie knew that her mother had her best interests at heart. She was trying to save her from a loveless marriage by forcing her into a friendly union. Katie didn’t understand it in the slightest, especially given Helena’s own rebellion in her youth. Helena Rosier has been disowned for marrying Franklin Bell, a muggleborn chaser and aspiring broom designer. She’d been raised to be a pureblood lady but forced to go into trade—to open a quidditch shop in Diagon Alley with her husband. Helena should know better than anyone the value of marrying for love. Not that there was anyone that Katie loved. 

She ignored the lopsided smile and crooked teeth that flicked across her mind. She and Marcus would never work as more than friends. _Really._ His father was extremely blood prejudice—so prejudice that he was against the new SOW party marriage law simply because it would force muggle blood into his line. Besides, Katie knew that Marcus didn’t see her that way. 

Cracking an eye open, Katie studied Gilbert for a moment. Her older brothers looked a lot like each other, although Gilbert was taller than Elliot by three inches. Both had the same curly blonde hair—the same piercing green eyes—the same roguish charm that Katie couldn’t master no matter how hard she tried. The eyes came from their father. The hair came from their mother. Gilbert and Elliot looked like the perfect mix of their parents. Katie, on the other hand, looked like her mother. 

She was significantly taller than Helena, and significantly flatter chested (to the point where she was sure she’d be mistaken for a boy if she cut her hair short and wore male robes), but the hair, sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, and aristocratic nose were all her mother’s. Katie hated it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her mother—she just didn’t like that she looked like her. It was the first comment that older people made when they saw her the first time. _‘You must be Helena’s daughter.’_ It was more of a curse than a blessing. 

“You never know,” Gilbert said reassuringly. “Maybe you’ll actually end up fancying this pureblood.” 

“They’re _pureblood_ ,” Katie said, letting distaste flood her voice. In her experience as her father’s unofficial apprentice, purebloods were entitled, sometimes to the point of spoiled. Even those she counted as friends—Angelina, Alicia, and Marcus—were entitled. The things that they could do without double-guessing themselves drove Katie mental. 

“I know.” Gilbert sighed. Of her brothers, Gilbert was the one she was closer to—the one who made an effort to understand her. Maybe it was because he was closer in age (seven years compared to Elliot’s nine). Maybe it was because he was easier to talk to. He didn’t understand Katie’s desire to be alone, but he respected it. “Maybe they’re nice and like quidditch.” 

“And maybe they have two heads and have memorized the Beatles discography.” Katie rolled her eyes. 

Gilbert released an exasperated sigh. “You could always tell Mum and Dad about your friend who likes brooms. She’d stop if she knew you had someone lined up, even if he is Dark.”

Heat rushed to Katie’s face. “I don’t have anyone lined up,” she protested. “He… It’s not like that.” Gilbert looked doubtful, but he didn’t say anything else about Marcus.

Both Gilbert and Elliot knew Marcus, though Gilbert knew him much better than Elliot did. They’d accidentally met during the beginning of Katie and Marcus’s friendship. Neither of the men had believed that Marcus would befriend Katie for wholesome reasons, and they had been right, but they’d moved past that over the years. Elliot was still wary of Marcus, not trusting him because he came from a known Dark family (even though the Bells themselves were not closely aligned with either side). Gilbert, on the other hand, had grown strangely fond of the younger man, constantly needling and teasing him. Katie was fairly certain the only reason Marcus put up with it was because he enjoyed playing pick-up games with the Bell brothers. Two on two. They were fairly evenly matched when Gilbert and Elliot were forced to play chaser and keeper.

Because Katie would get in trouble with Helena for associating with someone from a Dark family, Gilbert referred to Marcus as her _friend who likes brooms_. He always managed to make it sound like a double entendre. 

“It’s really not,” Katie insisted. 

“I didn’t say that it wasn’t.” Gilbert raised his hands in surrender as Helena Bell swept into the entryway, a frown on her beautiful face. Gilbert jumped to his feet, cleaning his robes with a flick of his wand. 

“Why are the two of you hiding away here?” Helena asked. 

“We’re waiting for the guests,” Gilbert answered wryly. Katie shook her head. Their guests were purebloods. They wouldn’t be using the door. 

Standing up, Katie smoothed down her pale blue dress robes. They weren’t custom-made, but they were still designer. Between her mother’s shop and her father’s designs, the Bells were a well-off family. Katie liked the robes, even if she didn’t like that she’d only gotten them because her mother was playing matchmaker. 

Squaring her shoulders, Katie steeled herself for the painful evening that was to come. “Let’s go,” she said, pushing aside all desire to be alone. She could be alone afterward. Right now, she had to meet her mother’s choice. 

Katie led the way into the parlor. Franklin Bell was wearing a path into the carpet, nervously pacing back and forth, adjusting his glasses every few seconds. Elliot was lounging in an armchair beside the fireplace flicking through the pages of _Witch Weekly_ with himself and Gilbert on the cover. There were at least a dozen copies of the magazine spread across the house. Every time their mother threw one out, another would take its place. Personally, Katie hated the magazine, especially since she knew that Alicia and Angelina poured over them, ogling the men inside. She’s picked the article to pieces with Leanne, but she’d caught her friend eyeing her brothers when she thought that she wasn’t looking. 

“Give me that.” Helena snatched the offensive magazine out of Elliot’s hands, who made an offended noise. After tossing the magazine into the rubbish bin, Helena whirled on the family, leveling them with her cold glare. Franklin stopped pacing. “I expect each of you to be on your best behavior tonight. Katie’s future is on the line.” 

“Yes, Mum,” Elliot and Gilbert chorused. 

Katie remained silent. Her stomach churned at her mother’s words. _Katie’s future is on the line_. Before she had the time to start to panic, the fireplace roared to life and a well-dressed couple stepped out. They were closely followed by a burly, well-built man, only an inch or two taller than Katie. She had to stop her jaw from dropping. She recognized the man from some of the pictures Angelina had shown her. 

After a glance around the room––his eyes widening when he obviously recognized Gilbert and Elliot––the man’s attention turned to Katie. He smiled. It was a nice smile. Genuine. Sincere. Katie hated herself for thinking so. She was supposed to dislike this man. He was her mother’s choice. Liking him, even in a friendly way, would prove her mother right. 

“You must be Katie,” he said, his voice accented with a Scottish brogue. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Oliver Wood.”

* * *

After the dinner, Katie retreated to the workshop in the back of Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was the only place that Katie could count on being empty. Her father did most of his work in his own personal workshop. Her mother only came into the front of the shop. The workshop was Katie’s space. It had been for the last three years. 

Shutting the door behind her, Katie crossed the room, pulling out the broom that she’d spent hours designing and crafting. A keeper’s broom that Katie had named the _Breacher_ after the baleen brush. Katie stared down at the broom, a smile coming to her face as she remembered the last time she’d flown on it––the feeling of Marcus’s strong arms around her waist––the wind rushing through her hair. It had been perfect in a way that few things in Katie’s life were. She hadn’t wanted that moment to end.

The smile fell from her face a second later. Oliver Wood was a keeper. Her mother would see this as a sign. The first broom Katie had fully crafted was a keeper’s broom. She’d just have to make a whole team’s worth of brooms, Katie decided. Helena couldn’t read signs where there were none if she didn’t know where to look. 

Flipping through the pages of her design book, Katie stopped on a broom design. Unlike the Breacher, she’d been designing this broom since she was twelve. It was a chaser’s broom, designed with a specific chaser in mind––one who was violently fast and unafraid to take a beating. The broom was designed to be quick and durable. Katie had all the materials she needed to make the broom in the shop. She’d had them for the last year, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to make it. Now, she didn’t have a choice. 

Katie grabbed the block of red oak from the stack of woods in the back of the workshop. Red oak was known for being bendable and shock-resistant, perfect for a chaser’s broom, but not used often in European brooms as it was native to Canada and the States. 

Her choice of straw was corn stover. The lightweight material was associated with lower-class brooms from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and was rarely used in modern brooms because of the stigma that it was unrefined. Katie didn’t care. Corn stover was faster than every other straw. The next-fastest being rice-straw, which European wizards also had a tendency to look down upon because of its use in Asian brooms (incredibly fast Asian brooms, mind you). 

Tying it all together, Katie decided to use copper because it was malleable and lightweight. The same runes for speed, balance, and breaking on the Breacher would be applied to this broom, with an added runic equation for durability. This broom would be fast, lightweight, and unbreakable. 

Unlocking the cabinet with the most volatile ingredients, Katie pulled out a jar with a powdered mineral inside. It was the sedimentary cryptocrystalline form of quartz, known for its flammability. Not something any sane broom-maker would put in their broom, but Katie loved taking risks. She’d neutralized the mineral, magically reversing the flammability so that it was inflammable instead. It was going to be mixed together with the coating, making the broom fireproof without spells that needed renewing every year. It was the brilliant part of Katie’s design and had taken her two years to create.

The powder was what gave the broom its name: the _Flintlock_. 

Katie knew it wasn’t subtle in the slightest, which was one of the reasons she didn’t like Marcus rifling through her designs. The Flintlock was her greatest design––her masterpiece––her piéce de résistance. And she’d only come up with the idea because she was friends with Marcus Flint. It was embarrassing. 

Pushing aside her embarrassment, Katie pulled out her carving set and wand. Then, she began to work.

* * *

Marcus stared at the backdoor of Quality Quidditch Supplies, willing himself to knock. Fear gnawed at the pit of his stomach. _Would Katie even be in there after last night?_ He quickly brushed away the thought. Katie could always be found in her workshop. It was one of the fundamental things of Katie Bell. What Marcus was anxious about was the possibility that she wouldn’t be there alone. If last night went well… 

Marcus shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He was overthinking things. If last night went well, then that was good for Katie. It wouldn’t change anything else. It wouldn’t change _them_. 

Cracking open the back door, Marcus slipped inside. A witch light hovered in the middle of the room, illuminating the worktable in the middle. Katie leaned over a broom on the table, her concentration focused solely on coating the broom with a thick-looking paste. Her blonde hair was slipping out of its tight ponytail, golden wisps framing her face. She didn’t acknowledge Marcus when he entered. He doubted she heard him. 

Pulling up a chair, Marcus sat a few feet away from the table, leaving extra space for Katie to move around if she needed to. He sat quietly, watching her weave magic into the bristles. Watching Katie work never failed to fascinate Marcus. The way that her magic worked alongside physical craftsmanship wasn’t something that could be taught in a class at Hogwarts. 

The art of broom-making took years to master. It had taken Franklin Bell a decade as an apprentice in America to be able to craft brooms the way he did, but Katie had been surrounded by brooms since she was born. She learned magic in her father’s workshop instead of the classrooms at Hogwarts. Broom design came as easily to Katie as breathing, and broom making was second nature to her. 

Sometimes, Marcus wondered what it would have been like if Katie had been allowed to go to Hogwarts. _Would she be as passionate about broom design then? Would she have joined the quidditch team? What house would she have been in?_ Marcus didn’t ask himself those questions often because they ultimately led to one very unpleasant question: _would Katie have even been friends with him?_ The answer to the question was almost always, no. Marcus was certain of that. 

Katie sighed. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she glanced towards Marcus, seeming surprised to see him there. “You’re here,” she said. Marcus nodded. “What happened to dinner with your father?”

“Rescheduled,” Marcus answered, “It would seem that Lord Flint has gotten himself in trouble with the SOW party.” He doesn’t bother to hide the glee that entered his chest at the feeling. His father being forced to meet with Lord Riddle about his political views was a wonderful thing––especially since his mother was free. It wouldn’t hurt him or his mother, only his bastard father. 

“Oh,” was all that Katie said. 

Marcus noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He frowned. “When was the last time you slept?”

“What time is it?” Katie asked, which wasn’t a good sign. 

“It’s seven-thirty-three,” Marcus answered with a quick glance at his pocket-watch. He’d grabbed dinner at his flat before heading over. “When did you start crafting?”

“Probably around eleven-thirty.” Katie shrugged. Her stomach grumbled. She winced, adding, “Last night.”

Marcus sighed. Watching Katie work was magical, but she often got so caught up in her own designs that she forgot to eat. “You need to eat, Kates.”

“I’m sure there’s something around here.” Katie glanced around the workshop, looking for something to eat. 

“I’ve got it,” Marcus said. “Nilsy.” A second later, a well-dressed house elf popped into the space beside Marcus. He beamed when he noticed Katie. Nilsy had practically raised him, being the father-figure his own father never was. He was unreasonably fond of Katie––more fond of her than he was of Marcus. “Can you grab some of the leftovers from dinner for Katie?” he asked.

Nilsy clucked disapprovingly. “Has Miss Katie not been eating again?”

Katie looked at Nilsy bashfully. “Sorry, Nilsy.”

“You need to eat if you want to be a famous designer,” Nilsy reprimanded the witch. “I will be back with dinner.” The elf paused. “Unless Miss Katie would rather come to Master Marcus’s to dine.” 

Marcus was sure his ears were turning red as Katie answered, “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“She’s working,” Marcus said. Nilsy frowned at him. Marcus knew that he was in for an earful when he returned home. Nilsy had many opinions about the efforts Marcus should be making in wooing the charming Miss Bell. Not the Marcus was doing any wooing. He and Katie were just friends. All they’d ever be was friends. Best friends. He didn’t want to ruin that. 

Nilsy vanished, reappearing a moment later with a warm plate filled with a roast that Marcus knew hadn’t been for dinner. He’d had chicken. The elf glared at him, daring him to make a comment. When Marcus remained silent, Nilsy patted Katie on the head before leaving them alone. 

Katie dug into the dinner, moaning around her first bite. Marcus ignored the jolt that shot through him at the sound. “Nilsy’s a godsend. This is so much better than what Mum made last night. I don’t think she ever managed to learn how to cook properly. Da does most of the cooking.” She glanced at Marcus. “You can’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Who would I tell?” No one. The answer was no one. 

Katie shrugged. “Mum insisted on cooking last night. Everyone pretended to like it, but I’m sure the Woods had their house elves prepare something else when they got home.”

Marcus froze. _The Woods._ His gut filled with dread at the mention of his rival from his school days. On the pitch, Marcus hated Oliver Wood with a passion. Off it, he respected the man for his natural talent and dedication to quidditch. Now, however… “Wood? As in Oliver Wood?”

“Yep.” Katie nodded. “You went to school with him, didn’t you?”

Marcus nodded. He didn’t know what to say. When he’d learned that Helena Bell was setting Katie up by inviting over a pureblood family for dinner, he’d laughed at it. Katie had a lot of prejudices against pureblood because of their senses of entitlements. Marcus had imagined how horribly it would go for all parties involved, but he hadn’t been able to stop the sense of dread he felt on the small possibility that things would work out. Oliver Wood was one of the few who could keep up with Marcus in the air. 

“What did you think?” Marcus asked, adopting a false air of nonchalance. 

Katie shrugged. “He seemed nice enough.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Katie shoveled a mouthful of peas into her mouth. “He’s friends with Angelina and Alicia. They’ll love to hear about this.” 

Marcus’s heart dropped as she joked about her friends. He frowned, not liking how he was reacting. This was good. It was good that Katie liked Oliver. He was exactly the kind of guy that her family wanted her to be with. Plus, he appreciated quidditch. He’d easily let girls join his team, which meant he wouldn’t be turned away by Katie’s own love for brooms. It was good. Marcus didn’t want her to be stuck with someone she couldn’t stand. She was his best friend. He only wanted what was best for her.

“That’s good,” Marcus’s tongue felt heavy in his throat. 

“Is it?” Katie asked, searching his expression with her piercing blue eyes. She wouldn’t find anything there. Marcus was an expert at hiding his emotions.

“Of course.”

Katie nodded. “Right. Of course.” She changed the topic then, complaining about her brothers’ appearance on the cover of the latest _Witch Weekly_. 

As Marcus listened to her complaints, a feeling solidified in his gut. In all of their years of quidditch––of all of their years of antagonizing each other in the hallways at school––Marcus Flint had never hated Oliver Wood more than he did at that moment. Never. He didn’t want to think about why. 


End file.
